


The Crash

by lady_snow



Category: Tennis RPF
Genre: Angst, Deathfic, F/F, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Serious Injuries, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-13
Updated: 2014-10-18
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:58:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_snow/pseuds/lady_snow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Basic plot - Roger, Rafa and Andy are in a plane, the plane crashes.  This isn't canon compliant, and isn't suppose to be current.  They're all suppose to be a little younger here.</p><p>This is a plot bunny I'm carrying with me for a long, long time. I'm on a little break from my main project, and this chapter wrote itself in about two hours. It's not an easy read, and it will make you cry. Not for the faint hearted.</p><p>I think that this would be a two-parts story or a three-part story. I can't tell exactly right now.  I also don't know yet if it would go full slash, as is usually my style, or pre-slash/friendship. I will let the next chapter write itself, as well.</p><p>Comments, as always, are welcomed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Crash

“Rafa, what’s going on” Roger asked the Spaniard fondly.  
“Is alright, Roger. But - don’t like this plane, si? is too small?” The Spaniard was huddled on his seat, his earphones on, he was nervously knocking his knees together for the past 20 minutes.  
Roger and Andy, grinned at each other, but then Andy rolled his eyes. “Remind me again why we agreed to this?”  
“Come on.” Roger shrugged. “It’s just a promotion thing, you rather go swim with Crocodiles?.”  
Andy snorted. “You mean Dolphins, and yes.” He grimaced. “Remind me to thank Murray and Ferrer for retiring from this thing. Really, how did I get stuck as the third seed in this tournament and ended up doing THIS, being flown off to a secret location for a promotional shoot? I thought dropping out of the top 5 came with some benefits”  
Roger laughed, an easy laugh. “Shut up, how much did you get in appearance fee?”  
Andy snorted. “Less than half of what you got, I’m sure.”  
Roger shrugged. “What I heard was is that they’ve built a court which looks like it’s on Aladin’s flying carpet, and we’re suppose to play like doubles on that.”  
Andy cocked an eyebrow “There’s three of us”  
Roger waved a hand. “I think one of local wild-card players is waiting on the site. It’s supposedly huge, so it’s out of the city. No one told you those details?”  
Andy grimaced. “Honestly, I didn’t care that much. I just didn’t think it’s going to a long flight.”  
Roger glanced again toward Rafa, who was curled in his seat, looking down on the vast desert and valleys underneath them, still involved with his earphones. ”I didn’t remember he had issues with flying.”  
Andy rolled his eyes. “Is there something he doesn’t have issues with? The guy is a bundle of issues.”  
Roger’s upper lip curled up, but he nudged Andy. “Stop that, this IS a tiny plane, though.”  
He glanced toward the pilot cabin. “I’m going to ask the pilot how long we’re going to be, I didn’t think we’re going to go so far from Dubai itself, I still need to practice today. And the terrain looks rough, I’m not familiar enough with that part of the emirates, I’ve never flown over these parts, I don’t think. I’m not quite sure where we are.”

Roger unbuckled himself and got up, and walked two steps toward the pilot cabin, when the plane suddenly jumped. Roger stumbled, falling down on one knee with a startled gasp, reaching out to stabilize himself.. Both Andy and Rafa got out of their chairs to aid him, Andy pulled him up. “You okay, man?”  
“Yeah. Yeah. Christ, what was that?”  
“Air pocket” Andy said. “Has to be.”  
“Si.” Rafa frowned, “I want to land already.”  
Roger exhaled. “Yeah, I do too, kinda. Odd that we’re not there yet, I was going to ask the pil-”

Roger never got the chance to finish the sentence, before the small plane lurched violently to the left, then to the right. The three of them, standing in the middle of the plane, were thrown into the side of the plane, then to the other. Roger groaned as the air escaped from his lungs in a rush as he hit the side of the plane, and he could feel his mouth filling with blood. His ears were ringing, but beyond that there were Andy’s frantic swearing, and Rafa’s cries in Spanish. Roger found himself thrown on top of a chair and he sank into it and buckled himself in.. Then the voice of the engine was gone, and the plane started to drop. He looked frantically around. Andy was just in front of him, on the floor, holding on the leg of a chair, his eyes wide and startled. Rafa was further behind him, on the floor of the plane, one leg stuck behind the beverages bar. He wasn’t moving. “Rafa!” He cried out. “Rafael!”  
The Plane tilted further forward, and Andy was losing his grip on the chair, Roger could see the muscles in his hand tensing as he struggled to hold on. Roger unbuckled himself, held on to his chair on one hand, and reached out to Andy with the other. “Andy, Take it!”  
Andy made a grab at his hand, but then the plaen tilted again, and he lost his grip completely. Roger was knocked out of his chair as well, and found himself on the floor. He was rolling, rolling forward, uncontrollably. And he could almost hear the rush of the wind against the wings of the plane before they came head into the ground with a loud grind, and then he knew no more.

\------

Andy did not lose consciousness, not really. He was wide awake when the plane crashed, hurling him around forcefully, when the noise finally stopped, he took a moment to appreciate to he was, in fact alive, before the pain in his left leg and left wrist hit him.. He cried out in pain, a cry that intensified into a scream as he look down, and realized with horror that the leg was indeed broken. The position of his feet, below the ankle, was bent to the left, unnaturally and horrifyingly so. The pain of it, and most of all the way it looked, was horrible. After a moment, he forced himself to slow down his breathing and turn the cries into gasps of pain. The silence, the silence was frightening. “Ah- Roger! Oh FUCKING CHRIST. Roger! Rafa!! Ah-Ah-Ah fuckkkk...” 

The body of the plane was tilted oddly on the ground, and he was caught at the very beginning of the plane, near the pilot cabin, with his back turned to the rest of the plane. He held on to a nearby chair, and forced himself to try and turn around, using his right hand. He didn’t think his left wrist was broken, badly sprained, maybe. Still, he couldn’t use that hand at all. He cried out again and again as he twisted his body backwards. His body was drenched in cold sweat, and he tried to keep his breaths shallow, to prevent fainting. 

When he finally managed the spin, he noticed Roger right away. Just 5-6 feets behind him, on the floor, unconscious, and fuckohfuck, bleeding from the head. “ShitShitShit. Roger! Roger! Ohfuck.”  
It was a short distance, but it might have been a mile. He closed his eyes, allowed his body to fall on the floor, and then dragged himself back on his elbows. He let out shuddering sounds of pain as his ankle dragged against the floor, and there were black dots behind his eyes, dancing. “Comeon, Roddick.” He mumbled.”Don’t pass out, don’t pass out. Fucking don’t.”  
When he finally got near Roger, he positioned himself with his back against the side of the plane, and fought the urge to throw up. With a trembling hand, he reached out to Roger’s neck, to check for pulse, and let out a sigh of relief when the pulse seemed strong. He touched Roger’s shoulder. “Roger. Dude, I need you to wake up, right fucking now.” At the touch, Roger stirred slightly, and turned.  
Andy realized with a start his face were banged up as well. A Broken nose, for sure. Roger groaned in pain. “Roger, can you hear me? Can you wake up?”  
Roger, cried out, something in Swiss German.  
Andy touched his shoulder again. “Roger. We’ve crashed. Tell me you’re lucid, man. Roger - We’ve crashed. The fucking plane crashed.” He was babbling, he knew, but he couldn’t help it.  
Roger lied there, moaning, for a long moment, Then lifted his head slightly to throw up on the floor, right next to them. Andy put a rough hand on his chin, to make sure Roger would not choke on his own bile. Roger panted and moaned. Then, after a moment. “Andy?”  
“Yeah” Andy said, utter relief in his voice to hear Roger coherent. “Yeah. That’s me. Roger we’ve crashed. We’re fucked, this is not good.” He doubled over in pain.  
Roger coughed, let out a single voice of pain, then said. “I - know. I know. Oh God. Oh God.”  
After a moment. “I’m scared to open my eyes, my face feels like...and my head hurts so much”  
Andy said. “You’re nose - it’s broken good., and you’re head, it’s bleeding. Most likely you have a a concussion.” Roger face twisted in pain. “I think I cracked ribs, too. I can - feel them - *moving*” He swore, again and again, in Swiss German. “I’m just going to lie here for a second. Are you okay?”  
Andy grimaced in pain. “No. My ankle a mess, so is my wrist. I can barely move, and it fucking hurts. Try to see if you can see straight and sit. Come on. Fucking do it, Roger, right now.”  
Roger blinked, and opened his eyes. Then his face curled in a grimace and he threw up again.  
Andy swore inaudibly, but Roger braced himself on the floor, and opened his eyes again, and looked at Andy. his gaze was glassy, and he was white as a sheet. Then he looked down at Andy’s ankle and his mouth opened his horror. “And-”  
“Yeah, I know, it’s fucked. Don’t look too much, I’m trying not to look.”  
There was a moment of silence, then Roger asked, in a small voice. “Where’s... shit, Andy - where’s Rafa?”  
Andy swallowed. “I don’-I don’t know. I don’t know.He’s not - he’s not IN here.”  
Roger, slowly, looked around. “What do you mean? How can he no-”  
“I think - I think he got thrown, outside. of the plane. When we crashed. Look, see how that part is all shattered. I called out, I didn’t - he didn’t reply. He’s not in here. I haven’t heard shit from the pilot, either. Nothing - nothing was moving in there.”  
Roger looked at him, his eyes wide and horrified at the implications. He then glanced toward the pilot cabin. “I think his name is Ali” He whispered. He braced himself. “Ali!”  
He dragged himself to his hunches, shuddering in pain. Andy looked at him. “You’re going to look?”  
Roger nodded, silently, his eyes wide. he crawled the couple of feet until the cabin door, groaning with pain in every move, and tried to open it. It was jammed. “Shit. It’s stuck.”  
He took a deep breath, and tried to put more of his weight behind it, to pull the door. He cried out in pain, and the door didn’t move. He whimpered. “Christ, I can’t move it, I can’t put any weight against it to open.”  
Andy was helpless to help him. “Okay. Forget it. Come back here. We’ll figure it out in a moment.”  
Roger moved back toward him, and pulled himself, slowly and painfully, to a sitting position next to him. There were tears of pain streaming down Roger’s cheeks. He swallowed. “We have - Andy, Rafa - we have to look outside.”  
Andy took a long sniff. “This place smells like.. it’s smells like fuel, Roger. We have to *get* outside. Shit Shit Shit.”  
“The Pilot?!”  
“Maybe we can have a better look at the cabin from outside. But first we have to go.” He looked at his ankle, and closed his eyes. At the other end, the cabin was shattered, but it was a long way for someone with a broken ankle and a broken wrist, and if Roger couldn't use his own weight and open the cabin's door due to his cracked ribs, then no way he was dragging Andy, who was heavier than Roger, that distance. Roger looked at him, pale. “Can you get there?”  
Andy gritted his teeth. “I- I don’t know. I can’t move this fucking ankle.” Roger looked around. His tennis bag was nearby, his contents spilling out. He reached out with a groan, and pulled out a racquet and bandanna. He looked at Andy, who nodded.”This could work.” Roger put the racquet next to Andy’s leg, and looked at him questioningly. Andy wiped the sweat from his face, and looked back at Roger, who looked as shaky as he did. “Can you maybe, try to grab it - like grab both the ankle and the leg and lift them together? Then slid the racquet underneath it?” He was panting already from the mere thought.  
Roger looked at Andy and shook his head panicky.”I - Andy, this is going - “  
“I fucking know it’s going to hurt! burning in here would hurt more. Do it! I can’t lift it myself.”  
Roger nodded, biting his lower lip. “O.K. Shit. O.K. Count of three, okay?”  
Andy nodded abruptly. “Yeah. Yeah.”  
“O.K. One. Two - “ At the count of two, Roger grabbed Andy’s ankle and leg, and moved them both to the racquet. Andy screamed in pain, long and drawn out, and Roger let out a huge groan of pain as he felt the movement in his entire rib cage. They were both panting harshly, and when Andy finally opened his eyes, nausea was under control, he found himself looking at a face as tortured as his own. “Come on, tie it. Hard.”  
Roger moved to wipe his face, but Andy caught his arm. “Your nose. Careful. Don’t touch anything, Just tie it..”  
Roger, with dexterity only he could muster at a time like this, or so Andy thought, tied the knot quickly and with as minimum pain, immobilizing both the leg and the ankle to the racquet. had to bent down slightly to manage the knot, and his face were the color of ash by the time he was done. Andy tried to move the leg, and found it incredibly painful, but manageable. “That's - impressive. How did you learn to do that?" "Swiss boy scouts" Andy would have smiled at that, but instead her said. " Lets do it - Wait. You got a water bottle in your bag?”  
Roger nodded.  
“Take it, I didn’t have any in mine.”  
Roger reached out for the water, then tucked it in his pants.  
Slowly, they both started the crawl to the other side of the plane. Roger pushed himself out of the broken side of the plane to the soft sand, warm, sand underneath his legs with a mighty groan, and then, sinking his teeth well into his bottom lip, stood up, leaned against the plane, grabbed Andy by the torso, and with a cry of pain pulled him out. Both them cried out as they fell on the sand next to each other. Roger’s hand dug into the sand, the pain in his cracked ribs was beyond anything he experienced. Andy, too, was shaky next to him. Repressing on shouts of agony. Several moments later, Andy took a long breath. “Okay. Okay. We’re okay. Lets move a little.  
The moved a few more meters, away from the plane, Andy dragged himself on one hand, Roger has managed an upright position, his head was pounding hard, but the bleeding has stopped, and his vision has cleared. Once they’ve stopped, Roger looked around. Nothing but vast emptiness of dunes and mountains, and 15 meters or so away, a man was lying on the sand. “Rafa” Roger mouthed almost silently, then opened his mouth to call out his name. “Rafa?!” The name came out choked and hoarse, and foreign to his own ears. There was no movement. Roger looked at Andy helplessly, he was shaking. “I can’t look. Jesus Christ.I can’t look.”  
Andy’s expression was hollow and twisted. “I know. I know. Go look.” Andy almost whispered. “We gotta see. Roger, fucking-Rog.. Go look at him.”  
Roger looked at him for a long moment, then nodded. Slowly, he stumbled on the dunes, his ribs crying out in pain. When he was a meter or two away. He stopped, then sank to his knees with a choked and wordless cry. Rafael Nadal was lying on his back, his head twisted in an unnatural angle, and his eyes. Those brown, expressive eyes were open, in a blank look that only death could ever bring them.


	2. Waiting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post crash, Andy and Roger try to survive.

At the sound of agony Roger made, Andy looked away, his face twisting with pain. Roger knelt over Rafa’s body, mouthing his name as if in a wordless prayer. “Rafa. Rafa. Raf...” Then his voice broke. “Don’t. Don’t be dead.” He whispered, He sent a shaky hand to touch the spaniard’s face, to trace over the lines of his face but hand shook too much to touch him, and just hovered above. “Please. Please Please. Don’t be dead.”  
Eventually, he reached out to check for pulse, and burst in tears when he found none. “Don’t be dead. God help me. Please don’t be dead.” He shook his shoulder, feeling childlike and helpless, and recoiled when Rafa’s head tilted to the other side. He turned his head away to throw up again, then buried his face in his hands and sobbed.  
Andy found that he had no voice. He dragged himself, slowly and painfully, through the dunes, tasting warm sand, until he reached them, breathless and in sheer agony. He looked at Rafa, and looked away in pain. “Christ. Christ. Fucking- fUCK.” He let out a cry, both in physical pain and in an emotional one. He touched Roger’s heaving shoulder. “Roger.”  
“He’s...”  
“Yeah.” Andy looked at him, he was shaking like a leaf.“I’m going to - close his eyes, okay? I think. I can’t look at them-like that, so - empty, okay? I don’t - it’s not what I want to remember.” He drew a shuddering breath, reached out, and closed the lids, letting out a choked gasp as he did. Roger removed his hands from his face, dirt and tears mixing on them equally. And then bent down to kiss the Spaniard’s forehead, then hugged the body of the younger man, to whom, for so long, he has called a friend and a rival. Andy felt like his heart was going to tear out at the sight. He didn’t have the strength to move anymore. He cradled his injured hand to his chest. After a moment, he could no longer bear it. “Roger. Come on.” He groaned. “Fuck, man. He’s dead, Rafa’s dead. Do you want us to live? Look at me. Look at us, we’re so fucked, we’re a fucking mess. And it’s getting hotter and hotter here. We need shade, we need to drink, we need - I need you to be with me.”  
Roger lifted his head slowly, his face were swollen from the bruises to the face and the tears. He looked at Andy for a moment, swallowed again and again, then nodded. “

Look - I need something - something else to focus on, for a minute. Give me your hand, I - will try to make a sling, with the other bandana.”  
Andy shook his head. “No, no. I have a hat, you’re going to need it to shade your head. Roger, it’s early. We’re going to boil out here in an hour.”  
Roger looked toward the plane. “Th-the pilot?”  
Andy bit his lip. “Can you make it back there?”  
“Do I have a choice?”  
Andy shook his head, “Careful. Look from the side. The Pilot cabin looks crushed to me, but we have to check, which means you, I’m sorry, man.”  
Roger looked, shakily, from Andy to Rafa. “Andy - if -” He blinked his lips. “You said - it will get hot in here. Rafa, he’ll...” He was unable to complete the sentence, and Andy inhaled in pain. “Yeah- I sort of - I think I have a plan. But - go look at the pilot.”  
Roger nodded, and started dragging himself on the ground back toward the plane. “You can’t stand?” Andy asked him, worried. “You stood just now.”  
Roger shook his head.”No - I’m so dizzy.”  
Andy uttered a silent oath. That was NOT good. “Okay. Just - go check.”  
The moment Roger’s back was turned, he turned to the spaniard, and squeezed his hand. He could feel the sweat pooling at the back of his neck. Fuck, it was heating up. They were all going to fucking cook. He reached to check Rafa’s pockets. Gum. Earphones. Cellphone- CELLPHONE.” He reached out to take it out. No reception whatsoever. But the phone was on, and the battery was almost full. It was good. He put it into his pocket. His phone was somewhere on the Plane, and no way he was able to go back there.  
He looked toward Roger, who was nearly there. He got to the body of the plane, and held on to pull himself up. Andy could hear his cry of pain. He watched as he walked around, leaning on the plane. Luckily, the Pilot’s cabin has twisted in a way that enabled Roger to look through the window without having to climb. He peeked, and when Andy saw him recoiling, he realized what it was that he had seen. “He’s dead.” Roger said softly.  
“You sure?”  
“Yeah...he hasn’t got a - he’s dead.”  
“Okay.” Andy said, swallowing. “Now we know.”  
Roger sank down, leaning against the plane. Andy swallowed. “Look, I have an idea, the beverage bar. It’s basically - Roger. It’s like a big - There’s a lot of ice in there. And it’s - it’s large. And hollow. We need to take all the drinks out, and.. put... put Rafa in there. It should maybe stay cold, for a while. Look, it’s got thrown off the plane, in the crash.” He pointed toward the bar. Roger looked where Andy has pointed, back at him, and Rafa. “I-I have no idea - how we’re going to. He’s - he was- He’s heavy. My ribs... I can - I can barely stand, and you can barely move.”  
Andy bit hard into his lip. “Rog. We don’t have to do this. But, in two hours, he’s going...Rog. It’s going to get really hot. He’s -  
“Shut up!” Roger begged. “Please - just- just stop.”  
Andy shivered. “Rog. It’s your call. Like you said, I can’t help you move him. We can just - leave him here. And - try to move away. I want to stay away from the main cabin. There’s a palm tree further away, see? maybe there’s some shade. We’ll take the drinks. And we’ll wait.Maybe they’ll come for us soon.”  
Roger didn’t reply for a long moment, then shook his head. “I’ll - I’ll try. I can’t just leave him to bake - in the sun.”  
He dragged himself to the bar, painfully and slowly, and opened the lid. Slowly, he started removing all of the drinks. “Just two bottles of water.” He said to Andy. “The rest is alcohol.”  
Andy let out pained snort. “That’s not - a bad thing.”  
Once the drinks were all on the ground, Roger braced himself on the bar, and stood up, his face twisted with pain. Slowly, he walked back toward them, his gait unsteady. He sank back next to Andy, panting and breathing hard. “Roger. The water bottle. Drink first.”  
Roger looked back toward the bar. “I - I left all the drinks there.”  
Andy frowned. “You have the bottle from your bag, in your pants. Remember?”  
“Right-Right.”  
Andy reached out with his hand to grab his chin, turning the Swiss’s face toward him. “Shit, your eyes all glassy. Look, do this. And we’re done, okay. We can rest a little.”

The next 45 minutes were a blur for Andy, who watched helplessly as Roger, nearly incoherent with pain, dragged Rafa’s body slowly cross the dunes, inch by inch, and hauled him into the bar, closing the lid behind him. After the effort, Roger simply collapsed on the dune, and didn’t move. Andy, whose leg was getting numb, and he didn’t think that was particularly good thing, forced himself to make way to him. At this point, his wrist was almost bothering him more. Roger was on his back, blinking against the sun, his lips were white, breathing heavily.  
He crawled next to him. “Roger. Jesus.. “.  
Roger turned his head to the other side and coughed, spitting blood. “I think I’ve - grazed something. It hurts, in my chest.” Andy leaned against the bar, trying to repress who was lying in there, and used his good hand to pull Roger so that his head leaned against Andy’s hip bone. Roger didn’t make the slightest attempt to resist him as Andy used his teeth to uncork the water bottle, and spilled some of the water on his hand, then wiped gently at the sand and dried blood on Roger’s face. Shit, but his face were hot and swollen.  
“Rog. Drink.” Andy held the bottle to his lips, and poured some of the water down his throat. Roger was breathing heavily, on the verge of unconsciousness.  
Above them, the sun rose fully. Hitting hard. Andy looked toward the palm tree. About a 100 meters away. In their condition, it would take 30 minutes to crawl there, if at all.”Roger.” He whispered. “We have to try and move, underneath the tree.”  
Roger shook his head. “No.” He moaned groggily. “I’ve had enough. I can’t move anymore. I’m staying here.”  
“We’ll fry. Take 10 minutes, then we’re moving. I’ll help you, you’ll help me. And we’ll get there. I’m not staying here waiting for the sun to bake me, and I’m not leaving you here, either.”  
Roger shivered, and didn’t reply. Andy’s good hand tightened on the man’s shoulder. “Rog.” He pressed hard, hard enough to hurt. “Don’t fall asleep on me. You want to rest here for a moment. Fine, but you need to talk.”  
Roger struggled, then opened his eyes fractionally. “How’s the leg?” he whispered.  
“Don’t know.” Andy said, looking at it for the first time in a while. “It’s pounding, hurting, but it’s also sort of numb. It’s still red, so it’s good. I think. How’s the head?”  
“Hurting. I’m dizzy. My face hurts more, though” He let out a choked laughter.”Now I’m really going to need a nose-job” his face twisted.”How- Andy. How am I going to...face Tony Nadal, I’m...” Andy clasped a hand over the Swiss’s mouth. “Shut it, Roger.” There was no harshness in his voice, though, only pain. “We don’t talk about this now, we don’t. Lets - lets live, you want to live, right?”  
Roger nodded, tiredly. “Of course I do.”  
Andy nudged him. “Lets go, then. Come on, get up. Take my hand, and sit,” Andy clasped Roger’s hand, and pulled his to a more upright position. Both men groaned at this. “Fuck, but we’re falling apart at the seams. Lets, put the bottles in your pockets, the water. Here - give me one. And let take the booze, too. And lets go there.” They shoved as much of the bottles into their pants, and slowly, made their distance to the shade of the tree. 

They both collapsed next to each other under the shade of the tree. Andy bit on his fist, trying not to cry out in agony. He crawled using one leg and one hand, and when he stumbled, he blocked with his bad wrist, and saw stars dancing in front of his eyes. He was pretty sure he made it worse. As for Roger, each and every one of his breath was accompanied with an alarming wheeze. And Andy thought that if he start having problem breathing, he wouldn’t be able to do anything to help him.  
Andy reached out for the bottle they dragged with them. Expensive Vodka, still delightfully half frozen, and gulped the liquid down his throat. Chunks of frozen vodka slide down his throat, and he imagined it would only take moments to take affect. Roger made to grab the bottle from his hand, and brought it to his mouth. “Roger, no.” Andy croaked. “You hit you head, you ca-”  
“Fuck you!” Roger groaned in misery. “It’s not going to make it worse than it already is.” Andy relinquished his hold on the bottle, and the Swiss poured it down his throat, sputtering. “It’s good.” He let out a groan. “I want to get drunk, and when I wake up... I want to find out it’s a dream. God I want it so badly.”  
Andy gulped. “Me, too. Rog. But - that’s...” He let the Not going to happen falter on his lips, and for a long moment nothing more was said.  
Roger closed his eyes, then started coughing again, wheezing worsening. He wrapped his arms around himself, and cried out after every cough. Andy used his right hand to push himself to a sitting position, then settled against the tree bunk, choking on a cry as he stretched both legs forward, then grabbed Roger, who was crouching on the floor, by the shoulder. “Rog. Come here.”  
Pale and wheezing, Roger looked at him. “What?”  
Andy, in pain, tried not to roll his eyes. “I have to spread my legs, but you can lean against me, it would make your breathing a lot easier if you’re sitting.”  
To his amazement, Roger flushed. “That’s...”  
“That’s fucking what? You want to choke to death?”  
Without another word, Roger accepted Andy’s outreached hand, and leaned against his chest with a pained groan, very mindful of the American’s leg.”Thanks.” He mumbled. “That was...I’m sorry, I can’t imagine I’m exactly who you’d want to get stuck with in a moment like that.”  
Andy opened his mouth to respond angrily, then let out a chuckle. “Yeah. I always did prefer to die with someone I have a better head to head against. Can we take a rain check, or something? Maybe you can lose a little to me before we do this lost-in-the-desert-verge-of-dying shit?”  
Roger smiled, for a moment, then the smile died on his lips. He started coughing again, his face twisting in pain as he did. Andy slung one hand around his body, tightly, to help him stop his body from flailing as he coughed. When the coughing attack was over, he slumped back against Andy, exhausted. “Thanks.” He whispered.. “Andy. Why is no one coming? Surely they know the plane had crashed.”  
“Do they? I expected fifteen minutes in the plane, not forty-five. Do people even know where we are? And when the plane first jumped - remember, when you fell?”  
“Yeah?”  
“You’d expect the pilot to say something. Like “It’s alright” or “We’re crashing, buckle up!” But he didn’t say anything. Maybe we weren’t going where we were suppose to go. I’m afraid to speculate why. ”  
Roger was silent. Then said. “I saw you talking Rafa’s cell phone.”  
Andy turned a bit to look at him. “I didn’t think you saw this.”  
Roger drew a shuddering breath. “Rafa - he’d like us to use it. I guess it’s not working, or you would have used it.”  
“It’s working, but zero reception. Internet not working too.”  
Roger’s face crumbled. “Oh. Can I have it, for a moment?”  
Andy hesitated. “What for?”  
“Um. Use the - the mirror.”  
Andy frowned. “Rog. You broke your nose, you have two black eyes... you look a fucking mess, so - don’t, okay? Not a good time to be curious.”  
Roger looked at him for a second, then sighed and nodded. “Okay. Give - give my your hand then.”  
“Why, what are you going to do?”  
“Bandage it. We’re in the shade now, I can use the bandanna.”  
Andy shivered. He was afraid to even move it. “Do you know HOW?”  
Roger nodded. “Pierre. I know some. I think I know this. I don’t think I can do damage” He sighed. “And - I just -need something else to focus on.” Andy looked at him, skeptic, but nodded. “Okay. Just - it hurts like fuck already, Rog. Try to see if you can distract yourself while making it better.”  
Very gently, Roger held Andy’s hand from where Andy held it at the side of his body, and bandaged it tightly using the bandanna while Andy closed his eyes and groaned.When he was done, Roger squeezed his arm. “Done.”  
Andy gulped as he tried to move it. “Wow, that’s much better. When the hell did you mess up your wrist, that Pierre showed you how to do it?”  
Roger smiled “Not me. Severin. I kinda fucked around with him and started drop shotting all over the place. I didn’t mean for him to try to reach them. He fell down badly.”  
Andy shook his head with a smile.”Yeah, silly him.”  
They both turned their heads when a wave of sand-salted-wind washed over them. Temperatures were constantly rising. “Oh, come on.” Andy muttered. “Put some planes in the air. Find us already.” He tried to move his leg a little, then let out a cry of pain. “Oh fuck me.”  
Roger handed him the booze, and he drank again. They passed it from one person to another, until the Vodka was mostly empty. Then Roger was crying again, and Andy didn’t say a word. He let Roger lean against him and cry, while tears rolled down his own cheeks. Eventually Roger choked.“It’s because of me he’s dead.”  
Andy snapped his head to look at him, a look on disgust on his face. “Get the fuck off, Roger, what are you on about?”  
“He was in his seat. Buckled in. Then I tripped when the plane first lurched and he unbuckled and got out of the seat to help me. Had he remained buckled in, he would be alive right now.”  
“Oh, Jesus. Yeah, and if he wasn’t snipping at your heels at the ranking, maybe you would have taken a vacation after Australia, and not come here. Without you here, they would have done another publicity shoot. So, it’s really all his fault that he’s dead.”  
Roger glared at him “What, are you actually making JOKES”  
“No. Are you? Rafa’s dead and I can’t think of anything, anything, that's more cry-worthy in the world than that. But if you want to blame yourself, don’t do this around me. Go crawl back there.” He gestured with his head toward the plane. “I don’t need to listen to this bullshit.”  
Roger drew a shuddering breath, and Andy bit his lower lip and said gruffly. “Lets just try to get some rest, okay? Rog - I- That’s what we got properly drunk for.”  
Roger nodded, then leaned back against Andy. Andy looped his good hand back against him and let out a long sigh. This didn’t feel like it was done for Roger’s benefit. Roger lied there for a moment, his eyes opened, then whispered. “Andy, what?”  
Andy stared to the horizon, over Roger’s head. “Pretty sure that’s the end of my career, right here.”  
“Now who is bullshitting?”  
“Did you take a look at my leg? Assuming I’m not going to lose it for infection, they’ll have to rebreak it to set it right again. That’s - I don’t know how you rebound back from something like that and play professional tennis afterwards, I don’t know anyone who had, anway.” He sniffed. “Not that it matters, much, I don’t see myself going back to top 5, either, even with two whole legs.”  
Roger paused for a long moment, then gave Andy’s hand a squeeze. “It’s going to be okay.”  
“Do me a favor, Rog. I don’t need your sympathies in this, okay?”  
“No,” Roger said softly. “You want to lie there and plan your retirement speech. Who am I to stop the wallowing. Only that there’s tone of guys on tour who came back from serious injuries. I’m not one of them, but James had a broken neck, Tommy Haas had his body done over. And if you think that I’m going to be able to just waltz into courts after this, you’re insane.”  
“Well, you should try. You’ll be the favorite at the Fre..”  
And then Andy stopped abruptly, his breath heavy.”Shit.” He slammed his head back against the tree. “Shit. I’m a piece of shit whose brain is not connected with his mouth. I don’t know why I said it just now. For a moment I just thought - ‘well, Rafa won’t be there’, it’s like I didn’t think about *why*. That was a cruel thing to say.”  
Roger was silent for a long moment.”It’s not like - I wouldn’t have thought about it myself, at some point.But I - really don’t- want to win it now. It’s useless, it’s stupid. What’s the point?”  
“Yeah.” Andy sighed. “What’s the point of winning the one major you don’t have?”  
Roger let out a bitter sound. “I have multiple finals. The only reason I haven’t won is Rafa. He - he won’t be playing any Roland Garros,, ever. I don’t have to prove I can win this without him. Everyone know that I can. It would be the most hollow victory ever.”  
“You can only play those in front of you, Rog. That’s tennis.”  
“Yeah, that cliche applies to a guy sitting out because of a messed up knee. Not when the guy-” He let out a shuddering breath. “Not to a-a - death. Not - not when I lived and he did not.” He shook his head. “Please, lets stop talking about it. Okay? It makes me feel - horrible inside.”  
“Yeah.” Andy nodded, guilt overpowering him. “Yeah. I’m sorry. It was a completely stupid and thoughtless thing to say.” He paused for a moment. “Can I just say one thing?”  
“What?”  
“Don’t let it completely ruin you and what you take out of this sport, okay? I know you. Federer-Nadal, the rivalry, that’s a product of the press. You exist on tour even without him.”  
“Well, I’m not mourning the rivalry right now, I’m mourning the man. You know, 22 years old, likes to fish and play playstation and speak English in a funny accent.“ Roger said in a clipped tone. “It’s been 12 hours, am I allowed, or what?”  
Andy said nothing to that, just tightened his hold on Roger. “Yeah. I just don’t want to see you - yeah.”  
There was silence for a long time after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Choices Choices.
> 
> If you're not sure you enjoy this story, and a death in RPS really freak you out. Then move on to Chapter 3, and the story will end there.
> 
> However, if you want more of this, skip chapter 3, move on to chapter 4, which is the alternate universe of chapter 3. There is a certain overlap between 3 and 4, and each one will take you onto a different direction. You can, of course, read both, but chapter 4 doesn't follow 3.


	3. Rescue (Alternative ending 1)

Hours ticked by, sun rose and lingered, hot and yellow and burning over their heads.  
Then the sun was slowly, slowly setting. Night was falling.  
They had one bottle of water left, the rest was booze of different variety. Roger’s head was hurting badly again, and his face was throbbing. He didn’t dare to touch more of the alcohol. He drank judiciously at the best of time, and hasn’t consumed such amounts in years. Andy, on the other hand, drank heavily, and at some point was slipping into such incoherence that it scared Roger enough to take the drink away, in spite of Andy’s drunken, pained protests.  
They drifted in and out of restless sleep, pained sleep. Temperatures started to drop, Roger was bothered with an insistant cough that made him cry out in pain. Andy had his one good hand wrapped around Roger as he coughed, which helped to keep his fractured ribs from moving around and helped him breath better. Then they drifted off again.

Hours later, Andy opened his eyes and blinked at the relative darkness. He groaned. Roger tilted his head slightly. “Hmm? You okay?”  
“No. I hurt.” Andy groaned. He didn’t ask for more of the booz, though. He was shivering.”We probably made a mistake not taking anything warmer from the plane. Maybe... I don’t know, like- seat covers. Maybe they had blankets. I’m freezing.”  
Roger glanced at him. He could see sweat all over Andy’s face, but Andy said he was cold. "Nothing we can do about it now." He was a 100% sure he couldn't move or walk unassisted.  
“I’m cold.” Andy repeated. “So fucking cold.”  
Roger looked at Andy’s leg and touched his thigh carefully. It was warm and he blanched, because it felt infected, and christ it's not good.  
“Talk to me about something.” Roger whispered, eager to distract Andy, to distract himself.  
“Rog. Come on.” Andy groaned. "Leave me to my fucking misery and my rotting leg."  
“No don't." Roger said, panicky. "Just - talk. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”  
Andy took a harsh breath. "I'm drunk, but not enough not to remember it. What worst is that you're not drunk enough to forget it. If we live through it, I'll fucking regret it."  
Roger cocked a brow. "Really? Is it that like a massive secret? What is it?"  
Andy was silent.  
Roger squeezed the arm wrapped around him. "Tell me."  
"What if I told you I used banned substances?"  
Andy could feel the twitch at Roger's body at that. "What?" Roger said, in a haze. "No, I don't believe it. Andy, why?!"  
"Why do people dope?" Andy's voice was bitter."To be better. To play better. To win matches." His voice was raw. "Do you hate me?"  
"No." Roger said quickly. "I can-Andy." Andy could feel him groan through a deep breath. "Shit. No. I don't hate you. I could never hate you. Definitly not after today. I'm not - God. I just don't get it, how could you be so stupid, you will get caught, you will lose EVERYTHING." His breathing was harsh.  
There was another pause, then Andy said softly. "Calm down. I never took drugs in my life."  
Roger's entire body froze, and he did a half turn to look at the American, anger and pain coloring his features. "What the fuck was that for? Do you think this is a joke or what? It's not funny. It's not funny. You can't just -" He looked away from him in disgust. "Go to fucking hell, Andy. Just - what was it good for? " He took a harsh breath, a lump settling down high in his throat. "What's wrong with you, why did you do this now."  
"Sorry. I had to know." Andy said, his voice low. "I had to know whether you'd still - whether you'll first reaction would be disgust and hate. This isn't what I was going to tell you."  
"Oh God." Roger whispered. "Maybe I'm changing my mind about this."  
"Too late." Andy said, his voice clipped. "Do you know what my biggest fantasy is?"  
Roger blinked. "Fantasy? How can I know that. I mean, I don't know. Winning Wimbledon, maybe? I imagine it's quite up there."  
"No." Andy said. "It's you." He let out a breath he was holding. "It's - yeah. That's pretty much it."  
Roger frowned, everything was muddled in his brain. "What do you mean, it's me. Beating me, you mean?"  
There was a pause in which Andy gathered his breath. "You're going to force me to spell it out? It's not about beating you. If I could - if you haven't noticed I'm sort of obsessed with you in ways that has nothing to do with tennis, you haven't been paying attention."  
Roger's eyes widened. "I haven't! I didn't know you were-"  
Andy snorted bitterly. "I'm not. At least - I don't think so. I sleep with women, it's fun. It's good. I never - it's basically just about you." He swore softly. "It's always fucking been you. I don't even know why." He made a pained sound. "Now, let me pass the fuck out again."  
"Andy." Roger whispered, his voice small.  
"Shut up. Don't say anything. Just don't.I don't know why I told you that." He groaned. "I shouldn't have."  
Roger was silent for a long moment. "Don't be an ass. I'm glad you told me."  
"No you're not. Leave it alone. I just needed to get it off my chest. You're not suppose to do anything with that information."  
Roger's lips tightened in anger. "You tell me this and we can't talk about it. That's great.'  
"It's humiliating." Andy said. "So please. Please. Don't speak about it. I'm sorry. I'm drunk and in pain and my leg is - I can barely feel it now. It's not good. It's just a thing. It doesn't fucking matter."  
"Right." Roger said softly. "It doesn't fucking matter. And that's why you're telling me this now, when you think you're dying. Because it doesn't matter."  
Andy didn't reply.  
Roger's lips pursed. "Fine. Just - put your hand back where it was. I'm cold and hurt."  
Andy, hesitent, put his arm against Roger again. They fell silent. The wind picked up, both of them were wrecked with shivers. "Jesus." Andy muttered. Roger was shaking so hard his entire body throbbed with it. The cold made him ache even worse. It wasn't cold enough to cause them real harm, it was just cold and windy, sand was in their faces and hair.  
Andy's breath was loud in his ear, then it quickened as he lifted his head. “Man. That's not just the wind. Can you hear something?”

Roger listened. “I’m not sure I’m - Oh. I hear SOMETHING.”  
They exchanged looks, and looked toward the sky. The stars were shining, and through it all, the silhouette of a helicopter. From the way the helicopter was circling, it had seen the plane. It had seen them.  
Roger allowed his head to drop back against Andy’s shoulder. Suddenly he was so tired. "God. Thank God." He turned around and glanced at Andy who looked troubled.  
Andy squeezed his arm, then said. “Rog. Things are gonna get - look, just - you have my number. Use it. I promise to do the same. Deal?”  
Roger nodded.”Yeah.” He sighed. “Yeah.”

 

Unable to do anything more, they watched the helicopter looking for a landing site.  
The helicopter landed not far from the plane. Then there were voices, and Roger lifted his head in relief at the harsh and clear tones of Tony Godsick, his manager. “Tony!” He called out.  
“Roger?! Roger! Where are you?”  
“Tony, we’re in here.” Andy yelled, and Roger glanced at him again. His voice was a lot weaker than normal.  
There were flashlights, and footsteps running. And then they were there. A tournament official, someone that had to be from Dubai’s rescue services, an ATP doctor they both knew, and Tony Godsick.  
Tony, pale and sweaty, crouched near them. “Roger. Roger! Thank God. You’re alive.”  
He hugged the younger man, who recoiled and groaned.. “Ou. Don’t. I have - I have broken ribs, I think.”  
Tony let go at once, but Roger clung to the American’s overcoat with his fingertips, unable to let go.  
Tony grasped his chin “Fucking Christ, the looks of you both. Anything else beside the face and the ribs, Rodge?”  
Roger nodded. “I hit my head... I’m dizzy.”  
Tony used his flashlight to light at them, first at Roger’s face, then at Andy. Face, body - he stopped when he got to the leg. His face twisted when he looked at it. “Fuck.” He squeezed Andy’s shoulder. “You alright?”  
“Fucking fantastic.” Andy replied weakly.  
Tony looked between the two of them, then around. “Where’s Rafa?”  
Roger looked away.  
“What?” Tony looked at them “Where is he?”  
“Tony.” Andy said, sobering instantly by Tony’s question. His voice telling what a thousands words could not. He caught Tony’s eyes in the darkness, and shook his head.  
Tony’s eyes widened in shock. “What?!” His voice fell to a hoarse whisper. He looked at Roger, who was staring at him through red-rimmed eyes. “Wait - wait-WHAT?”  
“We - “ Andy searched for a word. “Got lucky. He didn’t. He got thrown out of the plane.” He paused. “He’s - over there. We put him - Roger put him - in the bar. It’s hollow. There was ice in there, we didn’t want him to- ”  
Tony put one hand over his mouth, then ran a hand in his thinning hair. “No. Oh. Oh no.no.”  
He grabbed Roger’s shoulder. “How did you do that with broken ri-” At Roger’s haunted expression, he stopped at once. “Okay. Okay. Doesn’t matter. Can you stand?”  
“Not sure.” Roger groaned. “I’m - we drank a lot of vodka on an empty stomach. Maybe - If you’ll help me - maybe. Andy can’t though.”  
Tony got up, then pulled Roger up very carefully. Roger groaned in pain, but got up on two feet, leaning on Tony like a rag doll. “Sorry. I’m really dizzy.”  
The doctor crouched next to Andy and looked at his leg.“I’m not touching anything now, Andy. We’ll take you to a hospital, then we’ll see.”  
Andy let out a snort. “Like I’d let you touch me without drugging me properly. I’m not drunk enough not to feel it.”  
“We’ll take you to the helicopter in a gurney.” The doctor said to Andy. “You too, Roger? Or Can you stand up straight and unassisted?”  
“He can’t. He’s not walking anywhere.” Said Tony shortly, taking in the unsteadiness in which the Swiss leaned on him.  
Roger didn’t argue. The world was spinning all around him, and Tony, being shorter, struggled to keep him upright.  
\----

Once inside the Helicopter, Roger found himself horizontal, along with Andy, who was finally given something for his leg by the doctor, and was now lying quite still, his eyes closed. Tony sat next to Roger. “Wanna call Mirka, Rog? I have a satellite phone.”  
Roger hesitated, and shook his head. “I can’t - not here. I will - I can’t, Tony. I will - I will lose it. You call her. Tell her I’m okay.”  
Tony nodded. “Okay. Yeah. I mean - she’s there waiting with Tony Nadal. I mean.” He sighed deeply .”Shit. SHIT. We will be at the hospital in an hour, once they get Ra-they’ve gone to get him. I’ll tell her to come there. They’ll return for the pilot, we can’t all fit in here.”  
Roger was silent for a moment, then frowned and asked tiredly..”Tony,where are we? What are we doing here? Before we crashed - flight was taking too long. It was weird.”  
Tony sighed deeply. “I was kind of hoping you won’t ask. Basically, you were going to the opposite direction from where you were suppose to go. Foul play is... suspected. The pilot? Not who was suppose to take you. The real pilot is dead. It was a major security oversight, Rog. I’m sorry.”  
Roger’s eyes widened in horror. “What, like a kidnapping? By whom?”  
Tony swallowed. “We’re not sure whether it was for money, or for - maybe it was terrorist activity, we don’t know. The Swiss government is involved, American CIA, etc.”  
Roger swore. “So, the crash was - planned?”  
Tony shook his head. “I don’t know, but I don’t think so. I mean - what’s the point? Either it was for ransom or for political reason, no point of killing you. And the pilot surely never meant to kill himself. Frankly, I’m thinking it’s a money issue. I mean, Andy’s one thing, he’s an American. But what would any terrorist want with a Swiss, or with a Spaniard?”  
“Even if that Swiss was me, and the Spaniard was Rafa? A lot of people may want to kidnap us, it’s a big prize.”  
Tony sighed. “Look, you’re here. Authorities working on the case. Drop it, okay? They’ll be plenty of security in the hosp-” Their conversation was halted as the doctor and the rescue service personnel got closer to the helicopter, carrying a body wrapped in a sheet. Roger looked away at once. What he had seen was enough. Tony, next to him, blanched, and buried his face in his hands.”What a nightmare” he muttered.  
He at Roger with pity.”You want to get some rest. Maybe? It’s not a short trip back, and a helicopter is slower than a plane.”  
Roger shook his head. “I hurt all over.” He glanced at Rafa and shuddered. “I don’t think I can sleep.” His voice was raw, but the tears didn’t come.  
“The doctor will give you some of the stuff he gave Andy. Rog, you’re wrecked. Get some sleep, okay? No use you lying here with your thoughts.”  
After a small pause of hesitation. Roger nodded.  
He accepted the needle in his arm, and closed his eyes as he felt the sweet drip of the morphin spreading in his body, dragging into a dreamless sleep. Tony’s hand was on his shoulder, encoring.

 

\-----

“Rog, Roger.”  
He opened his eyes with a start, and for a long moment he stared at Andy’s and Rafa’s quizzical faces, and nearly bolted out of the plane seat with a cry. Andy frowned and grabbed his arm. “Woah. Hey. Calm down, you were dreaming.”  
“A-Andy?”  
“Um. Yeah, who else? We had to wake you, you were talking in your sleep and it didn’t sound like you were having a good time, man.”

Sleep. Talking in his sleep. He was dreaming. That’s all it was. It was a dream. He looked around. They were still on the fucking plane. And Rafa, Rafa was crouching next to his seat, looking at him with his familiar worried frown. His eyes warm and open and alive and expressive not dead and blank like...Fuck. It was a dream. Just a dream.  
He shook his head, and buried his face in his hands, a flood of emotion going through him. Rafa got up, mumbled something to himself, and brought Roger a bottle of water. Roger took it, his eyes still closed. He was unable to speak, he just drank and drank, emptying the bottle, before leaning back in his seat with a sigh, then opening his eyes to look at the two other men.He tried to smile, but it came out as a grimace. “Sorry.” He choked out. “I guess I had a nightmare. Sorry.”  
Andy frowned at him. “Some freakin’ nightmare.”  
Roger blinked. “Jet-legged. Too many planes lately, not enough beds. Ah - Shit,”  
Rafa sat next to him. “What about, Rogelio?”  
Roger looked at him, tanned and full of life, and fought a sudden and totally inappropriate urge to touch him. To make sure he’s real, and alive. But he didn’t, because no way to explain that, and to tell the very superstitious Rafa that he dreamed about his death while they were still airborne was a pretty bad idea. “I don’t know.” Roger panted. “I don’t know.”  
Andy frowned deepened and he put the back of his head on Roger’s sweaty forehand. “Um, you’re burning up. I think we should turn this plan around. I don’t think you’re up to exhibition in the desert. Not sure you’re up for this tournament.”  
Roger frowned. He did fell sick, and weak. Was it the dream or something else? He closed his eyes. “No… lets get there, you and Rafa will do it, I don’t want to disappoint them, if I still feel bad I will sit out.”  
Andy rolled his eyes, but sighed. “Your call, man.”  
Rafa went back to his seat, but Andy took a seat next to Roger and gave him a hard look. “What’s up, Rog?”  
Roger sighed. “Nothing.” He wiped his sweaty forehead with his hand. “The dream was just - very unsettling. You know, it’s hard to shake them off sometimes.”  
“What about?” Andy asked. “And don’t tell me you don’t remember.”  
Roger gave him a long look, and lowered his voice. “We crashed. I dreamed that we crashed.”  
“Oh.” Andy smiled a little. “Did we make it out alive?”  
Roger’s expression was serious. “You and I did, more or less.” The lump in his throat was still there. “Shit.” He groaned, and shook his head. “I can’t get over feeling sick to my stomach over this. It was just a dream.”  
Andy grimaced, and glanced toward Rafa. “Shh. Don’t let him hear you.”  
Roger leaned back in his seat and took a deep breath. “Wasn’t planning to.”  
His eyes shifted around the cabin and back at Andy. “I really want to land already.”  
Andy sighed, exasperated. “We’re going to be there in like 5 minutes, so try not to scar Rafa for life in the meantime, okay? We still got a lot of flying to do in the next few years.”  
Roger smiled all of a sudden. “Maybe if I scare him off flying I can start win some clay matches?”  
Andy snorted. “Wouldn’t count on that. He’ll drive there and still kick your ass.”  
Roger elbowed him, hard, and both of them shared a smile.

“Descent in five minutes, take your seats.” The pilot voice filled the room.  
Roger took a huge breath of relief and closed his eyes. He prefered not look at the ground approaching. Andy glanced at him. “You look really unwell, maybe you should take the plane back.”  
“I think I’ll drive back.” Roger mumbled.”Maybe a camel?”  
“You could walk.” Andy suggested. “You’ll miss the tournament though.” He touched Roger’s leg, trying to cheer him up. “More chance for us.”  
Roger tried to smile at him, but focused on the movement on the plane.  
Shortly afterwards they were on the ground, and Roger was never so happy to be off a plane in his life. Rafa seemed even more relieved, and was out the plane in moments.  
The warmth of the sun and the coolness of the wind hit Roger straight in the face as he stepped off the plane, and he took a deep breath as he watched Rafa chatting it up with the young local kid, both of them with their broken English. Andy stepped next to him. “Better?”  
“Yeah. Much.” He glanced at Andy. “It was just the dream. I think. I don’t think I’m actually sick.”  
Andy eyes him for a moment. “Lets go, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was one potential ending for the story. You may call it a cope-out. A simpler way to end a very complicated and slightly unconventianal Real People fic.
> 
> If you want to read another version of chapter 3, alternate reality, if you will. Move on to chapter 4.


	4. Rescue - Alternative 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unlike chapter 3, in which I followed the "It was a dream" route, in this alternate reality (WIP) Rafa stays dead.  
> If you're creeped out by that, the fire escape was in Chapter 3, there will be no further exits.
> 
> As you were.

Hours ticked by, sun rose and lingered, hot and yellow and burning over their heads.

Then the sun was slowly, slowly setting. Night was falling.

They had one bottle of water left, the rest was booze of different variety. Roger’s head was hurting badly again, and his face was throbbing. He didn’t dare to touch more of the alcohol. He drank judiciously at the best of time, and hasn’t consumed such amounts in years. He was afraid he’d never wake up if he truly fell asleep.  
Andy, on the other hand, drank heavily, and at some point was slipping into such incoherence that it scared Roger enough to take the drink away, in spite of Andy’s drunken, pained protests.

They drifted in and out of restless sleep, pained sleep. Temperatures started to drop, Roger was bothered with an insistent cough that made him cry out in pain. Andy had his one good hand wrapped around Roger as he coughed, which helped to keep his fractured ribs from moving around and helped him breathe better. Then they drifted off again.

Hours later, Andy opened his eyes and blinked at the relative darkness. He groaned. Roger tilted his head slightly. “Hmm? You okay?”

“No. I hurt.” Andy groaned. He didn’t ask for more of the booz, though. He was shivering.”We probably made a mistake not taking anything warmer from the plane. Maybe... I don’t know, like- seat covers. I’m freezing.”

Roger glanced at him. He could see sweat all over Andy’s face, but Andy said he was cold. "Nothing we can do about it now." He was a 100% sure he couldn't move or walk unassisted, and Andy wasn’t moving at all.

“I’m cold.” Andy repeated. “So fucking cold.” He held at Roger tighter.

Roger looked at Andy’s leg and touched his thigh carefully. It was warm and he blanched, because it felt infected, and Christ it was not good.

“Talk to me about something.” Roger whispered, eager to distract Andy, to distract himself.

“Rog. Come on.” Andy groaned. "Leave me to my fucking misery and my rotting leg."

“No don't." Roger said, panicky. "Just - talk. Tell me something I don’t know about you.”

Andy took a harsh breath. "I'm drunk, but not enough not to remember it. What worse is that you're not drunk enough to forget it. If we live through it, I'll fucking regret it."

Roger cocked a brow. "Really? Is it that like a massive secret? What is it?"

Andy was silent, his breathing harsh in Roger’s ear.

Roger squeezed the arm wrapped around him. "Tell me."

Andy gulped. "What if I told you I used banned substances?"

Andy could feel the twitch at Roger's body at that. A whole body twitch. "What?" Roger said, in a haze. "No, I don't believe it. Andy, why?!"

"Why do people dope?" Andy's voice was bitter."To be better. To play better. To win matches." His voice was raw. "Do you hate me?"

"No." Roger said quickly. "I can-Andy." Andy could feel him groan through a deep breath. "Shit. No. I don't hate you. I could never hate you. Definitely not after today. I'm not - God. I just don't get it, how could you be so stupid, you will get caught, you will lose EVERYTHING. Why. Why. I don’t get it why.”

There was another pause, then Andy said softly. "Roger. Calm down. I never took drugs in my life."

Roger's entire body froze, and he did a half turn to look at the American, anger and pain coloring his features. "What the fuck was that for? Do you think this is a joke or what? It's not funny. It's not funny. You can't just -" He looked away from him in disgust. "Go to fucking hell, Andy. Just - what was it good for? " He took a harsh breath, a lump settling down high in his throat. "What's wrong with you, why did you do this now." He felt on the edge of tears with relief that it was a lie. He dislodged Andy’s arms from around his body in anger.

"Sorry. I had to know." Andy said, his voice low, but not contrite. "I had to know whether you'd still - whether you’ll hate me.  But this isn't what I was going to tell you. As I said, I never took drugs."

"Oh God." Roger whispered. "Maybe I'm changing my mind about this."

"Too late." Andy said, his voice clipped. "Do you know what my biggest fantasy is?"

Roger blinked. "Fantasy? How can I know that. I mean, I don't know. Winning Wimbledon, maybe? I imagine it's quite up there."

"No." Andy said. "It's you." He let out a breath he was holding. "It's - yeah. That's pretty much it."

Roger frowned, everything was muddled in his brain. "What do you mean, it's me. Beating me, you mean? It’s not like you haven’t before.”

There was a pause in which Andy gathered his breath. "You're going to force me to spell it out, are you? It's not about beating you or anything tennis related. If I could - if you haven't noticed I'm sort of obsessed with you in ways that has nothing to do with tennis, you haven't been paying enough attention."

Roger's eyes widened. "What? What are you talking about.”  
Andy groaned. “Never mind. Lets just drop this.”  
“What? No way. What do you mean?”

Andy sighed. “Give it some fucking thought, even with the concussion you should figure it out.”  
It didn’t take Roger more than a fleeting moment. “Andy." Roger whispered, his voice small.”Are you gay?”

Andy snorted bitterly. "I'm not. At least - I don't think so. I sleep with women, it's fun. It's good. I never had any problem with that - So it's basically just about you." He swore softly. "It's always fucking been you. Since that day in Basel, when you did that shot, remember? The one that’s on youtube? Overhead around the net shit? I fucking hated you that day. But later, in the locker-room, 100% of the guys would have stayed away, but you came over for a chat like nothing ever happened. I don't even know why that got to me, but it did. And I never got over that. Never." He made a pained sound. "Now, let me pass the fuck out again."

"Andy." Roger whispered again, his voice gone. “I don’t know what to say. Are you serious about this?”

“It’s not a prank, if that’s what you mean. Look, I don't know why I told you that." He groaned. "I shouldn't have. I wish I hadn’t."

Roger was silent for a long moment. "Don't. I'm glad you told me."

"Right. You’re glad. Good for you. I just needed to get it off my chest. You’re not suppose to do anything with that information, in case you were wondering. Assuming we live through this, and I’m not sure about it."

Roger's lips tightened in anger. "You tell me this and now we can't talk about it. That's great, my opinion doesn’t matter.'

"Well, you don’t seem to have anything to say, and it's humiliating." Andy said. "So please. Please. Don't speak about it. I'm sorry. I'm drunk and in pain and my leg is. It's not good. It's just a thing. Those feelings, that I have. It doesn't fucking matter, and it’s not a big deal."

"Right." Roger said softly. "It doesn't fucking matter. And that's why you're telling me this now, when you think we’re dying. Because it doesn't matter."

Andy didn't reply.

Roger's lips pursed. "Fine. Just - put your hand back where it was. I'm cold and hurt, and we’re losing body warmth like that."

Andy, hesitant, put his arm against Roger again. They fell silent. The wind picked up, both of them were wrecked with shivers. "Jesus." Andy muttered. Roger was shaking so hard his entire body throbbed with it. The cold made him ache even worse. Sand was in their faces and hair.  
Not long afterwards, Andy began to moan. Softly at first, then louder. Roger, in spite of the searing pain in his ribs, turned sideways to him. “Andy?” He asked, panicky. “What’s wrong, do - do you need me to move?”  
“It burns. It burns.’ Andy gritted out, as he clutched as his thigh. “Don’t move please. Just - “ His good hand tightened into Roger’s shoulder, hard, and he cried out, then started panting, fighting against the pain.

Roger, his face torn from anguish, put his hand over Andy, and squeezed it as hard as he could.  
“Just hang in there, help is coming. I know it is.”  
“Fucking when?!” Andy spat. “You tell me, what’s the point of being rich and famous if we’re lost and no one is coming for us! I get that I’m the disappointing American hope, but you’d think someone would come looking for you, for fuck’s sa-”

They both stopped, because over the wind, they could hear SOMETHING.

They exchanged looks, and looked toward the sky. The stars were shining, and through it all, the silhouette of a helicopter. From the way the helicopter was circling, it had seen the plane. It had seen them.

Roger allowed his head to drop back against Andy’s shoulder. Suddenly he was so tired. "Oh God. Oh Thank God."

Andy collapsed completely against the tree, whimpering in pain and relief.

Unable to do anything more, they watched the helicopter looking for a landing site.

The helicopter landed not far from the plane. Then there were voices, and Roger lifted his head in relief at the harsh and clear tones of Tony Godsick, his manager. “Tony!” He called out.

“Roger?! Roger! Where are you?”

“Tony, we’re in here.” Andy yelled, and Roger glanced at him again. His voice was a lot weaker than normal.

There were flashlights, and footsteps running. And then they were there. God, they were there. A tournament official, someone that had to be from Dubai’s rescue services, an ATP doctor they both knew, and Tony Godsick.

Tony, pale and disheveled, crouched near them. “Roger. Roger! Thank God. You’re alive.”

He made a gesture to pull the younger man to him, but Roger recoiled and groaned.. “Ou. Don’t. I have - I have broken ribs, I think.”

Tony let go at once, but Roger clung to the American’s overcoat with his fingertips, unable to let go.

Tony grasped his chin “Fucking Christ, the looks of you both. Anything else beside the face and the ribs, Rodge?”

“Just my head, but the face is what hurts most.”

Tony used his flashlight to light at them, first at Roger’s face, then at Andy. Face, body - he stopped when he got to the leg. His face twisted when he looked at it. “Fuck.” He moved forward to squeeze Andy’s shoulder. “You alright, man?”

“No.” Andy replied weakly. “Someone, give me some drugs. I’m at the end of my rope here, and I’m not fucking kidding.”

Tony looked between the two of them, then around. “Where’s Rafa?”

Roger looked away sharply, because in his relief, he forgot, for a moment, he forgot. He forgot.

“What?” Tony looked at them “Where is he?”

“Tony.” Andy said, sobering instantly by the American’s question. His voice telling what a thousands words could not. He caught Tony’s eyes in the darkness, and shook his head.

Tony’s eyes widened in shock. “What?!” His voice fell to a hoarse whisper. He looked at Roger, who was staring at him through red-rimmed eyes. “Wait - wait-WHAT?”

“We - “ Andy searched for a word. “Got lucky. He didn’t. He got thrown out of the plane.” He paused. “He’s - over there. We put him - Roger put him - in the bar. It’s hollow. Like a - casket. There was ice in there, we didn’t want him to- ”

Tony put one hand over his mouth, then ran a hand in his thinning hair. “No. Oh. Oh no.no.”

He grabbed Roger’s shoulder. “How did you do that with broken ri-” At Roger’s haunted expression, he stopped at once. “Okay. Okay. Doesn’t matter. Can you stand?”

“Not sure.” Roger groaned. “I’m - my ribs are done and we drank a lot of vodka on an empty stomach. Maybe - If you’ll help me - maybe. Andy can’t though.”

Tony got up, then pulled Roger up very carefully. Roger groaned in pain, but got up on two feet, leaning on Tony like a rag doll. “Sorry. I’m really dizzy.”

The doctor crouched next to Andy and looked at his leg.“I’m not touching anything now, Andy. We’ll take you to a hospital, then we’ll see.”

Andy let out a snort. “Like I’d let you touch me without drugging me properly. I’m not drunk enough not to feel it.”

“We’ll take you to the helicopter in a gurney, I promise to give you something for the pain once we’re there.” The doctor then moved to Roger, who was pretty much being held up by Tony Godsick, and lit his lead and face with a flashlight. “Gurney for you too. Did you pass out?”  
“Yes.”  
“How long?”

“A while? Minutes, I think. It was right when the plane crash.”  
“More than once?”  
“I slept afterwards. I woke up from that.”  
“Threw up?”  
“Yes. Again, right afterwards.”  
“The dizziness is self evident. Lets lie you down on a gurney, we’ll do an MRI in the hospital.”

Roger didn’t argue. The world was spinning all around him, and Tony, being shorter, struggled to keep him upright.

\----

Once inside the Helicopter, Roger found himself horizontal, along with Andy, who was finally given something for his leg by the doctor, and was now lying quite still, his eyes closed. The doctor ruled Tony sat next to Roger. “Wanna call Mirka, Rog? I have a satellite phone.”

Roger hesitated, and shook his head. “I can’t - not here. I will - I can’t, Tony. I will - I will lose it. You call her. Tell her I’m okay.”

Tony nodded. “Okay. Yeah. I mean - she’s there waiting with Tony Nadal. I mean.” He sighed deeply .”Shit. SHIT. We will be at the hospital in an hour, once they get Ra-they’ve gone to get him. I’ll tell her to come there. They’ll return for the pilot, we can’t all fit in here.”

Roger was silent for a moment, then frowned and asked tiredly..”Tony,where are we? What are we doing here? Before we crashed - flight was taking too long. It was weird.”

Tony sighed deeply. “I was kind of hoping you won’t ask. Basically, you were going to the opposite direction from where you were suppose to go. Foul play is... suspected. The pilot? Not who was suppose to take you. The real pilot is dead. It was a major security blunder, Rog. I’m sorry.”

Roger’s eyes widened in horror. “What, like a kidnapping? By whom?”

Tony swallowed. “We’re not sure whether it was for money, or for - maybe it was terrorist activity, we don’t know. The Swiss government is involved, American CIA, etc.”

Roger swore. “So, the crash was - planned?”

Tony shook his head. “I don’t know, but I don’t think so. I mean - what’s the point? Either it was for ransom or for political reason, no point of killing you. And the pilot surely never meant to kill himself. Frankly, I’m thinking it’s a money issue. I mean, Andy’s one thing, he’s an American. But what would any terrorist want with a Swiss, or with a Spaniard?”

“Even if that Swiss was me, and the Spaniard was Rafa? A lot of people may want to kidnap us, it’s a big prize. Anyway, it’s not your fault. You’re my manager, not my head of security, I don’t have one.”

Tony sighed. “Maybe that’s a miscalculation. But never mind that now. Authorities are working on this case. There'll be plenty of security in the hosp-” Their conversation was halted as the doctor and the rescue service personnel got closer to the helicopter, carrying a body wrapped in a sheet. Roger looked away at once. What he had seen was enough. Tony, next to him, blanched, and buried his face in his hands.”What a nightmare” he muttered.

He looked at Roger with pity.”You want to get some rest. Maybe? It’s not a short trip back, and a helicopter is slower than a plane.”

Roger shook his head. “I hurt all over.” He glanced at Rafa and shuddered. “I don’t think I can sleep.” His voice was raw, but the tears didn’t come, there was just a huge lump in his throat.

“The doctor will give you some of the stuff he gave Andy. Rog, you’re wrecked. Get some sleep, okay? No use you lying here with your thoughts.”

After a small pause of hesitation. Roger nodded.

He accepted the needle in his arm, and closed his eyes as he felt the sweet drip of the morphin spreading in his body, dragging him into a dreamless sleep. Tony’s hand was on his shoulder, encoring. Without him having to ask. But Rafa’s face was the last thing he was thinking of when the drugs pulled him under.

 

He woke up almost 24 hours later, in a haze of medication, to a cool hand on his forehead. Mirka was at his bedside, caressing his face gently. He blinked at her and mouthed her name in a hoarse voice, and for the longest time afterwards felt nothing but her hands around him, holding him. Letting him cry against her.

“Who told Toni Nadal?” He asked her, eventually, when he was tapped out, when his face were burning again, when he couldn’t cry anymore. When he had to ask.  
Mirka paused, then said. “No one had to. He was here when you landed. He - he saw you two taken off the plan, and then…He already left for Mallorca, with - ” She let her voice drift. “I can’t believe this.”  
The world was hazy around him. “My fault.” He slurred. “He unbuckled because of me. Because I fell. His eyes, they were open. I see them.”  
She crawled into bed with him then, mindful of his ribs, and held him close. “Shh. Never mind that now. Sleep. Okay? I’m here.”

When he woke up the next time, his pain was much worse. He was alone in the room, and for several minutes, he could only groan. Then he found the little button that made the Morphine drip work, and sank under again. Flowers. The room was full with flowers. Flowers and Fedbears. And the Fedbears were purple and Red, or maybe it was the flowers. Purple Fedbears were sorta pretty, he thought, as sleep pulled him under yet again.

  
When he woke up for a second, the pain in his ribs was manageable. His face and head throbbed though, and Mirka was sleeping by his bedside. He coughed, then let out a cry of pain as his broken ribs protested. Mirka woke up sharply, and wrapped her arm around his chest. “Lean forward a bit. The doctor said it’s a good idea to cough. Better for your lungs.” However, Roger did his best not to cough, unsuccessfully so, then sighed when the pain receded slightly. He touched his face with a careful hand.   
“They set it. Your nose.” Mirka said, with a hint of a smile.  “I told them to fix it the way it was..”  
“Good.” Roger said, leaning back with a groan. “I wouldn’t know how to recognize myself  otherwise. Can I have a mirror?”  
“Here.” She said, handing him a small mirror she produced from her bag. “Just a warning. You’re a mess. Your entire face is black and blue. You had a concussion. Between that and the ribs…you’re going to be on the sidelines for a while..”  
Roger winced as he looked at himself, then put the mirror down and looked at her. “What time is it?”  
“You got here around 2 AM yesterday, it’s 5 PM the next day.”  
Roger was silent as he processed the information. “What about Andy?”  
Mirka sighed. “I went to see him, but he’s still out of it. He had a 6 hours surgery on his leg, and another on his wrist, he broke that as well.”  
Roger’s eyes widened. “6 hours? Just for leg?”   
She swallowed. “Roger. He’ll keep the leg, but it’s not looking good for - the tennis, Roger. He’ll be lucky if he - if he walks straight.”  
Roger let out a shuddering sign. “Fuck. He knew it. He knew it was bad.” He looked at Mirka with teary eyes. “He kept me together. Why did it take so long to find us?”  
She caressed his face, wiping his tears carefully with her thumb. “We were looking in the other direction. You weren’t where you were suppose to be.” Her voice choked. “I’m so grateful you’re okay. There are guards posted outside the room, and we’re leaving as soon as you’re able to fly, but not for a few more days. They want to make sure your head is okay before putting you on a plane again.”  
He leaned into her, burying his face in her hair. “Did you talk to my parents?”  
“Yes. I told them not to come for now. We’ll probably head to Switzerland not before long, unless you want them to come.  
Roger shook his head. “No. I’ll talk to them in a bit.” He raised his head. “I have to call - I have to call the Nadals.”  
Mirka swallowed. “Okay. Maybe it’s a bit soon? Tomorrow?”  
Roger shook his head again. “No. Now.” His voice was rough. “The more I put it off, the worse it’s going to get. I just don’t know what to say.”  
“Do you maybe want to tell me first, what happened?”  
Roger nodded. His eyes were closed. “The plane. It was odd from the start. It took too long to get there. I got up to ask the pilot. There was an air pocket- at least, that’s what we thought at first. I - I stumbled and - Rafa, and Andy. They got out from their seats to help me, but then we crashed. If - if Rafa was buckled in his seat, he’d be alive today. He got thrown outside the plane. I  I think he broke his neck.” He stopped and swallowed, because what he was seeing now wasn’t the smiling face of the youth he knew since his teen years, but those dark eyes blank in death, the unnatural angle of the head, and let out a whimpering sound as he clawed in his hair. “Please. I want to stop seeing that. His eyes open like that. I will never stop seeing that for as long as I live.”  
Mirka grabbed his hand and squeezed it tight.”You will, give it time..”  
“Yeah. Roger groaned. “Time I have, and he doesn’t. He’s dead. He’s 22, he shouldn’t be dead, and It won’t be okay. It won’t ever be okay.”  
Mirka looked at him helplessly, tearfully. “I know it’s not. I know -I’m sorry. But - it wasn’t your fault. I won’t let you blame yourself.”  
Roger wiped his face. “Just give me the phone, I want to call Toni.”  
“I don’t know about this. You’re - “  
“Just - give me the phone!”  
Mirka sighed, took out her cellphone, and looked through the numbers until she reached Toni Nadal. She dialed, and listened. “Toni, It’s - Mirka. Look, Roger is awake, he wants to talk to you, I know you wanted the same, so I’m going to give him the phone, okay?”  
Roger took the phone with a trembling hand. “Toni.”  
“I’m so sorry. No - I’m - I’m o-okay. Busted ribs and a concussion. Andy’s - I don’t know, I haven’t seen him yet. He messed up his leg and his wrist.” There was a pregnant pause as Roger listened to the question Mirka knew was coming. “He - Rafa. He got thrown off the plane when we crashed, he wasn’t in his seat because I tripped - he came to help me. “  
He couldn’t get another word out before bursting into heaving sobs. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. Tell his parents and Xisca I’m sorry.” He couldn’t get a word out after that, overcome with tears and searing pain.

After a moment Mirka took the phone from his hand. “Toni.” Her face crumpled as she listened to the other man, and wiped her face. “I’m so sorry, but Roger can’t talk anymore, he’s very distraught. When is the service?” She listened. “He wouldn’t be able to fly. I will - I think his parents would like to go. I will tell them. Toni, again, I’m so very sorry.” She paused again. “I will tell him. Yes, I  - it would mean a lot. Okay. take care of yourselves, it’s what Rafa would have wanted.”  
She closed the phone, Roger turned his face into the pillow, and she climbed into bed with him, and allowed him to cry against her. “I fucked it up.” He groaned. “Why can’t I hold myself together ever?”

If there was a list of people he didn’t want to cry to, a grieving Toni Nadal was at the head of that list. His opinion of crying men was notoriously low, and even though he heard the tremor in the men’s voice as he spoke to him, he kept it together while Roger did not.  
“You didn’t fuck up anything.” She whispered. ‘I think he was grateful for the sentiment, and I think he wanted to know that - Rafa didn’t suffer. He got his answer. He doesn’t need more answers from you right now.”  
“When’s the service?” Roger asked, trying to get the heaving under control.

“Day after tomorrow. Which means you won’t attend.” Her voice broke no argument. “I will talk to your parents, maybe they will go on your behalf.”  
Roger nodded into her, as she caressed his hair. “Rogi.”  
“Hmmm.”

“Do you want something to calm you down a bit? I can talk to the doctor.”  
He knew he should seriously consider it, but he shook his head. “No. It’s - no. I want to go and see Andy, I want to be there when he wakes, he has no family here, and he’s traveling without a coach. He shouldn’t have to wake up alone and then hear about his leg.”

Mirka lifted her head and gave him a sharp look. “I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”  
Roger looked at her, and she continued. “He’s going to wake up and realize his leg is never going to be much use for him. I realize you went through this thing together, but I don’t know if he wants to hear that from you. Even if he did - Roger.” She closed her eyes, because she didn’t want to tell him he was falling apart at the seams. “Look, I just think that he needs someone to tell him that  - he’ll need someone a bit more collected than you are right now. I’m sorry, honey, but Let the doctors do it. His family is a phone call away, and there are players still in Dubai, several American players, who are maybe closer to him.I don’t know. Why does it have to be you?”  
Roger shook his head, and took a heaving breath. “No. I - I owe this to him, I-”  
He shook his head. “I will get myself together, but - I want to tell him.”  
Mirka bit her lip. “I won’t talk you out of it, if that’s what you’re waiting for.” She paused. “Want me to come with you?”  
Roger glanced up to her, than flushed. “I’d love you to, I know you’re rock solid, but maybe that’s not such a good idea.” He mumbled.  
She frowned. “Why?”  
“Because - “ He carefully wiped at his face, the crying made the ache in his face and head increase tenfold. “Um. He said he had feelings for me.”  
Mirka blinked in surprise. “What?”  
“Yeah. That was my reaction, too. He thought he was dying, so…” His voice faltered. “I just think it would be awkward for him, if you’re there.”  
She cocked a brow. “Probably, especially if you’re telling me something he never intended to tell you. I don’t know if I really needed to know this little piece of information, Roger. Is he gay?”

“He says no. I don’t know. We were drunk and in pain and...I don’t know anything.” He looked up at her, confused. “He pretty much tried to tell me it’s a ‘Roger’ thing rather than a ‘men’ thing.”  
Mirka sat down, and searched Roger’s face. “And?”  
“And what?”  
“What did you tell him?”  
Roger studied the pattern in the blanket. “Nothing. I said - I told him I was happy he told me. He almost took it back, that’s how mortified he was.”

“Oh. Roger.” Her face curdled.  
He looked up at that, defensively. “What?!”  
“You didn’t think that, you know, as he was pouring his heart to you, that it might be appropriate to tell him that - well, as that you’re not as straight as he might think?”  
Roger moved against the bed. “I was - I was stunned. I - don’t know why I didn’t say anything, it would have requires so many explanations. We were -you don’t understand the state we were in.”  
Mirka propped her head on her palm. “I know I don’t. But - I think he made a big confession to you, and got shut out That’s pretty sad.”  
Roger’s eyes opened wide. “What do you - what did you expect me to say?”  
Now it was her turn to shrug. “I don’t know. Do you like him like that? He’s a good looking guy.”  
“I don’t know! How can I know, I - I thought he was straight”

“And he thinks you are, too.”  
At Roger’s startled eyes, she raised her hands. “Okay. I - I don’t mean to - you should do what feels right for you, and maybe this isn’t a good time to talk about thi.” Her voice softened. “Don’t you want to sleep?”  
“No. I want to go and visit him.” Roger said, edgily. He gave Mirka a sharp look. “Are you turning match maker, or what? I mean, are you telling me something, here?”  
Mirka bit her lip, suddenly startled. “I - I don’t know. I just - I don’t think you’ve been… happy, lately. I was going to talk to you about that, the timing never seemed right.” She swallowed. “And I know about the Ice skater.”  
Roger whitened. “Wha-what?” His eyes searched her face. His head was pounding furiously. “How do you know about this?”  
She rolled her eyes. “I know what you do every second of every day. And you can’t lie to me, and I’m wondering why you felt like you should. All you should have told me that you want to - ” She flushed. “I understand that. We have an agreement to be discreet, not to be monks.”  
Unbelievably, he felt his eyes welling up yet again. “You’re everything I want.” He whispered. “Don’t - I’m sorry. I don’t want you to leave.”  
Mirka sat down on the bed and gave him a sharp look. “Who said anything about leaving?” She sighed a deep sigh and looked toward the ceiling, looking for deities that would help her deal with his foolishness “Do you want to tell me what is going on with you?”  
He felt out of breath. “What’s with me? If I get involved with someone, eventually, you will leave. I don’t want that” He closed his eyes against the shame and panic of it, because the air seem to be draining from his lungs. “But I needed - sometime - I do need - ”  
The words got jumbled in his throat, because he couldn’t breath, and apparently that showed on his face, because Mirka grasped his shoulder hard and said something he couldn’t hear, and his breath came out in a wheeze, because the pain became constricting, and he couldn’t breath couldn’t breath and God God make it stop. A doctor was there, and a nurse, and something was injected in his veins, and then there was an even sharper burn that turned his insides into acid, then the world turned black.


End file.
